


Breaking (in) traditions

by LenaLawlipop



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas, Dancing, Eggnog, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LenaLawlipop/pseuds/LenaLawlipop
Summary: Crowley has never celebrated Christmas before, being a demon and all, but he agrees to celebrate it with Aziraphale after Armaggedon't.Or, the Bentley and the Bookshop conspire to make these two oblivious idiots get together on Christmas day,finally.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 77
Collections: Good Omens Holiday Gift Exchange





	Breaking (in) traditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [planetundersiege](https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetundersiege/gifts).



> Hello everyone!
> 
> First of all I would like to apologize to planetundersiege for taking this long with the pinch-hit present. I was asked to write this a few days before the 31st so that it would at least be during December, and I thought I would finish it in time - yet here we are. It accidentally became a longer oneshot than I thought it would, and I needed a bit more time. I hope the fluff makes up for my tardiness!
> 
> On the other hand, it is the morning of Jan 6th as I post this. In Spain we celebrate the coming of the three wise men, and kids receive presents that the kings leave during the night. I hope that if wherever you are you celebrate this as well, then at least I can double as a three wise men present instead of a Christmas one.
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone no matter what, and I hope you've been having an awesome start to 2020!

"I swear to Someone, angel, this many eggs will make too much eggnog. I don't even _like_ it!"

The sentence hung awkwardly between them as they stared at each other, blinking and trying their best not to think about a similar instance, when it had been Aziraphale saying similar words. He sighed.

"Well, I'm the one preparing things for tonight. While I appreciate your company, dear, you didn't have to come with if you didn't want to," he reminded Crowley.

"I wanted to," he assured him quickly. "I'm just trying to save you the trouble of buying too much of that... it'll go bad!"

"I'll eat the rest of the eggs before they go bad," Aziraphale settled.

He was almost finished anyway, he reasoned to himself, and he wasn't going to start putting things back on shelves. He pushed his cart along the aisles, idly wondering about upstairs, and downstairs, and how none of them would ever come look for them in a _supermarket_ of all places. He wasn't even sure they knew what a supermarket was, or how to navigate it at this point. If push came to shove, Aziraphale was pretty sure he would find the aisle with anything resembling a weapon faster than Gabriel.

Crowley grumbled all the way back to the Bentley, yet refused to let Aziraphale carry the bags, antics to which Aziraphale was mostly used, but still couldn't help but smile at.

"Mind the eggs, dear," he called as he got into his seat. He could hear Crowley repeating his words in a mildly sarcastic tone, and he chuckled. "Oh, how your owner likes to complain," he told the car. It vibrated softly.

"What are you doing to my car?" Crowley asked, sitting behind the wheel and petting the leather, suspicious. Aziraphale arched an eyebrow.

"Really, Crowley? I'm doing nothing to your car."

Whether Crowley accepted that or not was never answered, because he turned the engine on, and the car started blasting music. Except this time, the CD he'd put on hadn't spent the requisite two weeks in the car yet, and was still... a collection of modern Christmas carols? Aziraphale winced at the volume, turning it down a little, while Crowley stared at his car, dumbfounded.

"What on _earth_ is that?" he demanded. The car lowered the volume a little more, almost pitifully, and Aziraphale giggled.

"Isn't that one of your...?"

"Angel, you know I don't celebrate Christmas," Crowley reminded him, sighing. "Is this one of your CDs?"

"Not at all! My CDs are all rather more... old-fashioned, as you'd say."

"Bentley...?"

The music died down, and by the time Crowley took the CD out and put it in again, it had become yet another Best of Queen album. Aziraphale tutted.

"The poor car was probably just trying to be festive," he murmured, and Crowley sighed.

"I still think it's listening to you way more than it should. What next? Requiems?"

Aziraphale decided to keep quiet. Requiems could be quite beautiful, but Crowley clearly wasn't in a mood to appreciate this. Plus, the Bentley had decided to warm Aziraphale's seat in what felt like an apology, and he was willing to take it. It was only halfway on their way back to the shop that the demon relented, sighing and taking a hand off the wheel to place it atop one of Aziraphale's on his lap.

"Hey," he called, quieter. "I'm sorry, I know I'm a bit on edge. It's all this Christmas stuff... All the people being so disgustingly _happy_ , and _adorable_ , and doing _good deeds,_ you know I'm not..."

"I understand, Crowley," Aziraphale replied just as softly, tangling their fingers together for a little bit before placing Crowley's hand back on the wheel, making him chuckle. "We've been over this though... This year—"

"Yes, yes. This year we'll celebrate together, and the next one we won't celebrate at all," Crowley recited, seemingly starting to settle on the idea. He sighed, however. "Still. Don't see why you'd have to anymore. It's not like all the humans agree on it either, and your former employers won't be looking at you to join any celebrations of any kind."

"Oh, I would certainly hope not..." Aziraphale sighed as they pulled up to the shop, miraculously finding a spot to park the Bentley. As they got off, it flashed its lights a couple of times, and Aziraphale chuckled. "Merry Christmas to you too."

"Don't put words in my car's mouth," Crowley complained, half-heartedly, taking the shopping bags out of the trunk.

The car didn't reply to that, but Aziraphale could have sworn one of the lights blinked very briefly when Crowley wasn't looking, and he smiled, winking back. Perhaps he'd been too quick to judge, he thought a second later when, upon entering the bookshop, its lights also winked briefly before turning on fully. An old gramophone started playing something further into the stacks, a way more old-fashioned Christmas Carol. Crowley merely snorted at it this time.

"In any case, I hope you're right," Aziraphale went on, wondering briefly what his shop was planning with the Bentley, and if he should intervene. "Christmas parties on Heaven are incredibly dull. I only went once, and that was more than enough... Did I tell you about that time?" he asked Crowley as they went to the back of the shop, and upstairs, to the smaller flat he had there. As he often did, Crowley took off his sunglasses as he walked, pocketing them for later use.

"No, you haven't," he murmured, gently, letting Aziraphale fuss over the ingredients they'd bought and sitting back to listen to the story.

This was something they were better at, Crowley listening to Aziraphale while the latter did menial things around the bookshop, or as it was the case then, around the kitchen. It wasn't like Crowley couldn't help, but much as the demon liked to drive him places, and carry his bags for him, Aziraphale enjoyed being the one telling a story to a captive audience. If he had something to do with his hands in the meantime, that was just was good, where he was concerned.

It wasn't only that, he though, blushing slightly when he stole a glance at Crowley mid-story. It was also that Crowley was such a lovely listener. Always paying attention, always interested. Juts the right amount of hmms and ohhs, just the right amount of interruptions and sidetracking the conversation. And always looking at him, _all_ of him, so... intently. As if he was trying to commit him to memory.

The whole Christmas ordeal had started when Aziraphale had tentatively invited Crowley over for dinner. They had never spent Christmas together, as it was, and he'd been horrified to know that Crowley had never been had a proper Christmas dinner.

"I don't cook much, I don't really _eat_ much to begin with, angel," he'd excused himself at first, only to eventually reveal, begrudgingly, that he didn't celebrate it at all.

"You don't have to celebrate it as the literal birth of Christ," Aziraphale had argued. "Look at the Asian countries, they've adopted the holiday as a day to spend with family and get gifts for each other!"

"I already get you gifts all the time, and after this whole business with the son of Satan, every day is a holiday for us," Crowley had said, but Aziraphale had rolled his eyes. Aware on some respect that Crowley wasn't good at denying him things, he used his best puppy eyes (or so he'd had a few humans call them) to insist.

"Well, _I_ want to get you a gift this year. And we should have dinner together, too, I'll cook! Oh, dear, won't you come over for Christmas dinner? We don't have to do it the year after, I promise, just this once!"

In the end, Crowley had agreed to celebrate it only the once, and never again if he didn't enjoy it —which Aziraphale thoroughly intended to change— and because it would probably spite Hell even more. Aziraphale had actually quietly agreed with that one, and thus an agreement had been reached. Not an _Agreement_ , not anymore, but... something different. Something warm, and a little conspiratorial, and just a bit more than slightly dangerous in a way that Aziraphale hadn't allowed himself to think about in... well, maybe ever. A new tradition, in the making.

They had agreed on a gift they could both pick for each other, too, something Crowley had suggested and that Aziraphale hadn't had the heart to say no to: an "ugly" Christmas sweater. The ugliest they could find, that they thought the other would still wear for the night. Aziraphale had a bit of a moment of panic the week before Christmas, but in the end he was quite proud of what he'd come to wrap in the tackiest paper he'd found. He'd first thought of a few standard ones, but eventually had settled on a paper that had gaudy silhouettes of reindeers fornicating and it said 'Merry Christmas ya filthy animal' on it. He'd hid the small parcel among the stacks of books earlier that day after closing the shop, and he was hoping the shop wouldn't have moved it too much. Sometimes it liked to throw a fit if the books weren't 'properly' stacked. Which was, sometimes, very infuriating as they weren't always in a discernible order, not to Aziraphale, which only infuriated him more.

He was nearly done with cooking by the time their conversation drifted off. The smell coming from the oven was pretty good, if he did say so himself, and dessert was cooling in the fridge, ready to be served later. He was beating eggs, mixing in the heavy cream, when he looked up to his friend ( _friend_!), who met his eyes quickly, a grin spreading through his face effortlessly.

"Need any help with that? I wouldn't mind spiking that for you," he asked, mischievously, and Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh.

"You needn't worry, dear, I _have_ met you."

"But wouldn't you let an old adversary do a little wile on Christmas day? You'd deny me so?" Crowley teased, standing up to walk closer, hips swinging ever so close. Aziraphale faltered.

"I— oh! Well, I, no, of course not..." he mumbled, allowing Crowley to take over and finish making the eggnog. He swallowed as he didn't push Aziraphale away but, instead, simply worked around him to get the ingredients. "I, hmm, should I...?"

"I think this would taste better cold, no?" he murmured, perhaps oblivious to Aziraphale's suddenly overreacting heart. "What do you way we pop this in the fridge for a little while, hm? Let me tempt you to a glass of wine until then?"

"Y-you wily thing," Aziraphale sighed, in his best attempt not to look too flustered, and taking the chance to take a deep breath as he opened the fridge, making space for the eggnog.

He accepted the glass of wine that Crowley poured a few moments later, this time more composed, and suggested they went downstairs to wait for the timer on the oven to go off. Crowley shrugged.

"Are we having dinner downstairs or up here, angel?" he asked distractedly as they went downstairs.

"Well, I had been thinking..." Aziraphale turned around at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Crowley, who stopped only just in time not to crash onto him. A few books around them shivered before Aziraphale could get too lost in Crowley's soft eyes, momentarily sidetracking them both, and he clicked his tongue. "Apologies. The bookshop has been most fussy lately, I don't quite know why!"

"Don't think too much of it," Crowley consoled him, swiftly pushing something away with a wave of his hand. A book, most likely. "The bookshop and the Bentley both, it's like they know we're breaking tradition."

"Breaking it in, if anything," Aziraphale corrected. "It's not like we _had_ a Christmas tradition, it's brand new."

"Well, whatever it is, it has them both in a tizzy. It will go away eventually."

"Oh, I do hope so."

"So, dinner?"

"Right!"

Aziraphale perked up, leading the way to the further part of the shop, the one with a view of the end of the street, and a giant tree in the far end of the street that belonged to a nearby shop. The street decorations and the tree lights were already delightful, along with the gentle swish of snow outside, but he'd also cleared the space of a few shelves, pushing them aside to form a circle around them — a cozy small corner of sorts where he'd set a table, and a tiny tree in a corner, decorated with some old colorful balls. He opened a hand towards it, soon bringing it back to clasp both hands together, expectantly. He hadn't given it a second thought when he'd arranged the space, but now that he had Crowley here, he had suddenly realized it might have been a bit...

"Is this too much, dear boy?" he asked, anxiously.

#

Crowley didn't answer at first. His heart fluttered at the domesticity of it, the romantic atmosphere of them, having dinner here, surrounded by books and Christmas decoration. They had spent hours upon hours in the back room of the bookshop, which was so filled with books it almost looked like what Aziraphale had arranged here, perhaps even _more_ cluttered than their new makeshift diner. He gasped for words, inelegantly articulating something like "s'nice 'ngel".

To be completely honest, Crowley had been nervous since the beginning. He hadn't meant to snap so much at the angel before, during the car ride, but he'd been on edge ever since the invitation had come up, almost naturally, almost like Aziraphale had just been waiting for the excuse. And why wouldn't he, Crowley thought? It was clear, especially after that nightmare of a story, that Aziraphale wouldn't feel at ease spending Christmas with the other angels. Crowley had, on occasion, thought of what it would be like to celebrate Christmas at all, but he hadn't allowed himself to dwell on what it would be like to spend it with Aziraphale. He'd always assumed he would be with other angels, or perhaps even with humans... perhaps even alone, enjoying a good book. He hadn't... He didn't...

"Oh, good," Aziraphale was saying, in that relieved voice of his that usually alerted Crowley that he was overthinking again. He tuned back in, started to pay attention to his words, hoping to give time to his heart to stop the stupid fluttering. It was getting on his nerves! "I was hoping to change our usual scenery a little, you know, make space for the food and all... Should we set the table while we wait?"

Setting the table wasn't too difficult a task for two celestial beings who could, if they wanted, move the objects at will. They didn't, however. Aziraphale seemed to enjoy doing things manually, perhaps out of habit, and Crowley didn't mind following his lead this time. They set plates for the meals they'd cooked, glasses and cutlery. Their fingers met every now and then, and while the first time they both pulled away sharply, in surprise, Aziraphale seemed to relax after that, and Crowley wasn't going to protest. The angel's fingers slid over his very briefly after he set down the last of his cutlery, and Crowley shivered, but couldn't help a smile. Things really were changing after that failed Apocalypse, weren't they...

"Let's toast," said Aziraphale.

"Dinner isn't ready yet!" Crowley laughed, but sat in front of the angel, suddenly aware they weren't sitting side by side, as they usually did, but in front of each other. Their knees bumped a little under the table, but neither mentioned it.

"It's alright, we still have a little wine, and humans tend to toast a lot during the holidays," Aziraphale explained patiently. Crowley wondered if he spoke from experience, but he didn't want to ruin the moment by asking, so he simply raised his glass. "To...?"

"To the world," Crowley repeated, yet another memory from not too long ago that made them smile instead of wince. Aziraphale blushed a little, and Crowley couldn't help but stare. The world, indeed, and right in front of him. Aziraphale's eyes stared right back, blue, brilliant, oh _so_ clever... They smiled.

"To the world," he agreed, so quietly that had Crowley's ears been any less sharp, he might have missed it. He wondered if his corporation was betraying him with a blush. He felt it might be. Aziraphale's certainly was, and Crowley wasn't sure what to chalk that up to... perhaps the wine? He didn't dare think of anything else.

They clinked their glasses together by sheer force of habit, muscle memory kicking in to save the day while they stared into each other's eyes for longer than they'd ever dared to. It was, however, perhaps for the best that they'd set a timer. Else, they might not have realized that time hadn't stopped on their behalf. Both stood up in a hurry when they heard the little ringing sound upstairs, and avoided each other's gaze while they hurried to turn off the oven, hearts aflutter.

Their flaming cheeks had gone back to normal by the time everything was on the table, hot and smelling delicious, and while Crowley wasn't a big eater, he was beginning to think it would be worth it to eat just this once, to try Aziraphale's food.

"You know, we've eaten together so many times before, and yet this is the first time I'm going to try your cooking," he mentioned, inspecting the plates in front of him. He looked up when Aziraphale produced a sound between a gasp and a squeak, and grinned. "Relax, angel. You know I'm not _that_ harsh of a critic."

"R-right. Well, I have been cooking my own food for a long time now, so I'm quite confident it will be decent... I just hope it is also to your taste," he finished, a little... meekly? Crowley was honored to be in the receiving end of something that had clearly been thoroughly thought out. He raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sure it will be. Have you...?"

"I may have spent some time wondering what you would like to eat," the angel confessed, much to Crowley's growing embarrassment again. This was, there was no other word for it, absurdly _cute_.

"I'm terribly flattered," he said sincerely, unable to muster the wit to say something snarky. Aziraphale only reddened more.

"Well, don't say that before you've tried it," he prodded, and Crowley nodded.

The food was delicious, of course. Not that Crowley had had any doubts, but it seemed to ease Aziraphale's mind when he gave his approval, so he did, whenever he tried something new, and just whenever he remembered it through the meal. Just showing some appreciation! Really, nothing un-demonic about that... But then came dessert.

And then Crowley choked on the eggnog.

Aziraphale laughed heartily at him, taking his own mug with careful hands wrapping around it. Crowley had the vague suspicion that the angel had used a miracle to warm it, the heathen. He frowned.

"When did you put so much alcohol in this?" he asked, incredulous. Aziraphale tutted.

"Really, my dear, you were right there with me in that kitchen!"

"I'm not complaining," Crowley backpedaled, taking another sip from the eggnog and smirking. "But you've added more, haven't you? I didn't put this much in it. I didn't expect you to... It's Christmas and all that!"

"Well, that may be so... But isn't that yet another reason to, as you say, spike it? It's a time to celebrate, Crowley!"

"Is that tradition?" he asked, curiously, relaxing back in his chair once more and ready to listen to Aziraphale. The angel huffed.

"What, you mean among angels? Don't be daft, you know very well that bunch wouldn't touch eggnog if their lives depended on it. No, I mean for humans. They enjoy celebrating Christmas so much... Well, most of them, anyway."

"I don't think their version of celebrating Christmas includes getting black out drunk, angel, and this eggnog is definitely a bit much for a human," he teased. Aziraphale's cheeks reddened.

"Well, I know your alcohol tolerance firsthand," he muttered, fiddling with his glass. "But if you don't like it..."

"Don't put words in my mouth!" he warned, taking another drink. "I like it very much. I just didn't expect it, but it's a pleasant surprise... Should have known you would. You were always good at holding your alcohol anyway."

"Oh, thank you dear," he laughed, trying to muffle the sound against his cup. "Though I do think it took me some years to get used to it at first."

"Oh, yeah, do you remember when alcohol first happened?" Crowley fanned himself with a hand. "I have never had an easier time completing jobs. Some humans were so drunk so often that it was incredibly easy to influence them."

"Likewise," Aziraphale agreed. "Especially with those who were soppy drunks, those were easy targets back then."

Crowley couldn't help but snort at the thought.

" _You're_ a soppy drunk," he accused, but Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

"Please. I'm a tired drunk, if anything, you're the soppy one. And philosophical, I don't know what's worse."

"Well, only one way to find out," Crowley raised his glass, and Aziraphale chuckled.

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

It wasn't yet Christmas, Crowley thought, watching people walk by the window as they talked, remembering old times, Aziraphale recounting some memorable Christmas he'd had in the past, and then eventually getting sidetracked back into some Christmas-themed book he'd read. Crowley contributed with his knowledge about the Grinch, earning himself a patient glare every time he brought it up.

They weren't quite drunk by the time midnight rolled around, but they were definitely a little tipsy. It was Aziraphale who realized it first, startling Crowley when he jumped in his seat, checking his watch.

"Oh, it's midnight!" he said. Crowley squinted, trying to remember why that had any importance whatsoever, but Aziraphale wasn't finished. "Merry Christmas, Crowley!"

He stood up, pulling Crowley up as well, and hugged him.

Wait, what?

Aziraphale... hugged him!

Crowley's brain screeched to a halt, sobering up just enough to realize what was going on and kicking his corporation into gear to wrap his arms around the angel as well, awkwardly.

"Um, angel...?" he asked slowly after a second. Aziraphale let go slowly.

"Merry Christmas, Crowley," he repeated, and Crowley nodded dumbly.

"M-merry Christmas to you too, angel. A-aziraphale. Erm. Yeah."

"I hear some people wait until the next morning to share presents," Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley hesitated to ask what the hell had just happened. "But you know very well I'm too impatient to do that, so what do you say? Do you want to open your present now?" he asked.

The enthusiasm in his face was such that Crowley didn't have the heart to say no. Or he wouldn't have, had he wanted to say no, but he didn't, not really. He nodded again, but this time, he caught Aziraphale's wrist before he could walk away.

"Wait, angel, hold on, what was that?" he asked, and he hated the way his voice croaked, but he... he had to know. Aziraphale tilted his head, and Crowley dropped his hand. His palms were suddenly a little sweaty, stupid human corporations...

"I said merry Christmas? It's... what you usually say on Christmas," he said, not understanding at all, and Crowley almost growled out of frustration.

"That's..."

"I'm sorry if I stepped over any boundaries, I would have thought..."

"No," Crowley interrupted, vehemently. "Not a boundaries problem. You're welcome to hug me anytime. It's just..."

A short silence fell over them, in which Crowley _did_ growl under his teeth and palm faced, frustrated.

"That didn't come out right," he started, but then Aziraphale started... laughing?

It was just a quiet snort, at first, that made him look up, but then it became giggles that he tried to muffled behind a hand, and then full hearty laughter that shook his entire frame, white curls bouncing on his head and refracting the light just _so_. Crowley stopped breathing, not that he really needed to. He was beautiful.

"Oh, dear, I apologize. I'm so used to Christmas greetings, it must have been quite a shock! Yes, of course, you're welcome to hug me as well. I'm sorry I didn't ask first, will you forgive me?" he asked, eyes glittering with so much sincerity it made Crowley's skin itch. He coughed, looking aside, and fearing that his corporation's blush would be a complete giveaway.

"It's fine. I mean, I didn't think much about it, just. Um, yeah, it's fine, angel. Don't worry about it."

"Will you forgive me, Crowley?" he asked again, this time with a hint more of teasing. He sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"No angel needs forgiveness from the likes of me," he settled, pushing his chair aside to join Aziraphale and go find his present.

He didn't quite get to that, however, because Aziraphale caught his hand much in the same way he had done to him before. He pulled him closer than Crowley had dare to do before, however. He gulped with the sudden proximity.

"Don't ever say that again like we aren't on the same side," he murmured, something akin to desperation in his eyes. "I've been afraid for long enough, and I won't have you going down the same path for my sake."

"Angel..."

"So. Will you forgive me?"

Crowley's skin was on fire where he'd been touched, but he managed to choke out a humbled 'yes'. He wasn't sure when the conversation had shifted to something so serious from what had been just a teasing remark, but he knew better than to cross Aziraphale, especially when he was a bit drunk. He wasn't violent, but he seemed the kind of person (angel?) that would be prone to crying, and he would be blessed and damned all the way to Heaven if he let that happen. And on Christmas night, too!

Aziraphale stared into his eyes for a few seconds longer than Crowley would have expected, but then let go slowly, with a knowing smile.

"You're such a gentle soul, dear," he murmured, turning around to walk towards the mini Christmas tree in the corner. "You hate it when I say so, but you are..."

He was lucky that Crowley didn't particularly feel capable of shoving him into a wall right now. He was too busy trying to keep his knees from buckling from the entire ordeal that had just taken place. He sighed, pretending to throw up at his words, and earning a chuckle. He walked to where the angel was standing, and summoned his own present into his hands. He put it next to the one under the tree already, and Aziraphale giggled once more.

"That's adorable. Am I supposed to be insulted? I think it's quite lovely," he murmured. It took Crowley a second to realize he meant the wrapping paper. He shrugged noncommittally.

"Turns out it's impossible to find ugly angels... Y'all get the monopoly on love," he grumbled. Aziraphale laughed again.

"I haven't found any demonic depictions on the wrapping paper section either. I found this, on the internet, but other than that..."

Crowley took another second, and then laughed. Aziraphale smiled indulgently as he watched him take the package to observe it more closely.

"That's adorable," he settled as well. "You're adorable if you thought this would offend me, by the way."

"I didn't think it would," Aziraphale waved him off, and Crowley couldn't help the smitten smile slowly extending through his face.

"Thank you, angel," he told him, sincerely. Aziraphale, probably noticing, went a little pink on the cheeks.

"Well, go on, open it! You might not like it and then..."

"I will not like it, and that's the entire point, remember?" Crowley said, but he didn't really mean that.

They had agreed to get each other ugly sweaters, and they would have to wear it for the night. They didn't have to wear them afterwards if they didn't want to, but this night would be mandatory. He had been dreading it for weeks, since the idea had come up, but now he found he didn't really mind.

The bookshop had done some rearranging while they weren't looking, it seemed, for neither of them took credit when they turned around and the space had shifted into a cozy corner with a single sofa and blankets instead of the dinner table. Aziraphale reddened a little more.

"Like I said, the bookshop..."

"Let it be," Crowley shrugged. "Sofa is comfier anyway, and at least the eggnog is still there."

It was, on a little coffee table that Crowley could have sworn was underneath a pile of books the last time he'd seen it. It didn't matter now, he supposed, as they sat down with their presents. Aziraphale wiggled as he found a comfy blanket to wrap around himself, and handed Crowley his present.

"Here you go, dear boy. Do open mine first, I'm so curious to see what you think," he grinned, a little mischievously, and Crowley snorted.

"Oh boy... Am I going to regret agreeing to this?"

"I sure hope so," Aziraphale murmured, deadpan, as Crowley did his best not to tear the paper to pieces. He would have loved to, but Aziraphale had gone through all the trouble to find it... it would have broken his heart. Yeah, definitely that. It wasn't like he intended to keep it or anything!

The sweater was...

"This is an abomination," he marveled, pinching it with two fingers and lifting it to see it in its entirety. "Holy shit, this is horrible, Aziraphale. How much did you cringe when you first saw this?"

"As much as I had hoped I would while crafting it, of course," he murmured, hiding a pleased smile against his cup, and inadvertently causing Crowley to have what felt like an aneurysm that would have killed a normal human being. He stopped blinking, eyes probably almost round as he stared at the angel in front of him. "Crowley, dear? Are you...?"

"I'm fan-fucking-tastic," he rasped, forcing his corporation to speak despite not having breathed in at least a minute. Aziraphale didn't seem fooled.

"I thought you would find it ugly, but if it's really that..."

"No, no!" he wheezed, and finally kicked his lungs into working properly. He coughed a little, and shook his head. "No, I love it! Er, I mean, I hate it! No, wait."

Aziraphale smiled timidly, and Crowley shook his head. He hastily put on the sweater, figuring that would convey his feelings a little better, and Aziraphale's eyes roamed his chest curiously. If it made Crowley's useless corporation tingle all over, well, Crowley was used to ignoring Aziraphale-related tingles. Mostly, at least.

The sweater was hideous. It was made of red and white wool, with mismatched tartan collar and cuffs. It had an embroidered little cherub on the front, saying a tacky line about love, and while the angel's features were mostly non-descript, Crowley wanted to believe the eye color and hair color weren't a coincidence. The V-neck suited Crowley, especially if he popped a button on his shirt to show off his clavicle. While it would otherwise seem bony and far too thin, the sweater hugged him nicely, making his chest look more proportionate to his height. Crowley hated the fact that no self-respecting being would wear this sweater anywhere. He splayed his fingers over his chest, feeling the embroidery on his fingertips, on his palm. Aziraphale was blushing when he looked up.

"Do I look as horrible as you'd expect?" he asked, trying to joke. His voice still felt awkward. Aziraphale huffed.

"I'm not one to judge, I gifted you the damn thing," he murmured. Crowley took it as a good sign.

'It's very warm,' he would have said. 'Pity I can't very well go around wearing a caricature of you on my clothes, I think that'd be a bit much for Hell, even if I'm retired,' he would have added, had he found his voice properly. Or his brain.

He clearly hadn't, because the next thing he did was ask:

"Did you really _make_ it from scratch? F-for me?" he added, and this time his voice wobbled so much even Aziraphale, dense as he was, seemed to notice. He smiled a bit shyly before nodding.

"I know that wasn't part of the requirements, I didn't expect you to do the same or anything like that," he insisted. "Really, that's fine, Crowley."

"N-no, no, I mean..."

"I didn't have to go that hard and yet I did?" Aziraphale arched a teasing eyebrow, and Crowley gawked.

"Angel! You're quoting _memes_ at me? Who are you and what have you done with my angel?"

Aziraphale simply laughed some more. Then he extended his hands.

"Well, may I?" he asked. And suddenly Crowley was very unsure about this. He willed his hands to stop shaking.

"You know what, I'm not going to make you wear this if... well, you don't have to wear it, okay? It'll be just that ugly gift you get sometimes..."

"Hush, dear. Let me see it first!"

He was laughing, Crowley thought, but that wasn't going to last. Oh, Someone, Aziraphale was going to hate it, Aziraphale was going to hate _him_...

The paper unfolded perfectly under Aziraphale's careful fingers, much more used to fiddling with pages than Crowley's. He set it aside with a frown that Crowley couldn't decipher from his current angle, so he leaned in a little bit.

"Angel? I, um, I hope it's not too much...?"

"Oh, don't be silly, Crowley," Aziraphale tutted, raising the sweater to see it better. He snorted at the back side of it. "Oh, I see."

"You don't have to wear it, I knew it was a bad idea, it's just..."

"Crowley, stop!" Aziraphale insisted. "Sure, it's a bit racy, but I'll just..."

Crowley couldn't help but stare as the angel put on the offending piece of clothing. The sweater, if it could be called that, had a bit of text saying "You're misspelled 'Satan' on your letter" on the front. It was rather long, and when Aziraphale put it on Crowley could tell he'd gotten the size right as it fell to his mid-thighs. The back of it, however... Well, it was missing. It didn't have sleeves to begin with, and it ended up working more as a racy dress than a sweater, despite the material. It was entirely black, and it fit awkwardly on top of Aziraphale's clothes. Crowley was about to tell him he really didn't have to wear it when the angel offered a mischievous smile, snapped his fingers, and his clothes underneath disappeared, leaving him only with the abominable "sweater" and his trousers and shoes. Crowley choked.

"Aziraphale, you really, really..."

"It's not that big of a deal, Crowley. I said I would wear it, and frankly, I don't mind trying a bit of modern fashion every now and then. It's warm in the bookshop, so it should be fine... In fact, I suppose this shouldn't be worn with..."

Aziraphale stood up, looking around himself and exchanging his trousers for what looked like thick stockings, and his well-worn shoes for a pair of tame, black high-heels. Not that it mattered, that they were tame and relatively boring even, by normal, human standards. It didn't matter, at all, because Crowley's brain had already short-circuited around the time Aziraphale had actually put on the sweater, so at this point, he was just pretending to understand what was going on.

When Aziraphale sat down again, he smiled, satisfied with his work, and took his cup of eggnog back into his hands. He frowned for a second, and then smiled as the air twinkled briefly with yet another miracle.

"It really must be a crime to drink that warm," Crowley said, his voice almost mechanic. Aziraphale threw him a worried look for a second, before apparently settling on disappointed.

"Yes, well, I'm the one drinking it, thank you very much."

"Right."

A silence fell upon them. Crowley wasn't sure where to look, so he drew his eyes around Aziraphale's new clothes.

He'd picked the stupid sweater-dress a while back, with the specific idea in mind that he was going to get him something he would never put on. He'd later on debated his own choice endlessly, worried that it might be too much, that he would never be invited back to the bookshop, and certainly never again on Christmas day. He'd apparently been wrong.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said then, sternly. "What is it? Should I change my corporation entirely, does this not suit me? I know my chest is mostly flat, but you don't have to look so disappointed."

"Disa— _what_?" Crowley choked on his eggnog, and set it aside. "Ok, hold on, I'm not disappointed!"

"Well, you're so quiet!"

"Well, maybe I'm trying to process... things," he finished, lamely. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and stood up.

"I know this would sit better on a female corporation," he started, walking a few steps. Crowley filed away in his brain the fact that the angel seemed entirely too comfortable in heels. "But I think it looks alright on me, doesn't it?"

Crowley groaned quietly when he turned around to see himself in a mirror he'd manifested with yet another miracle. The angel wasn't wearing anything underneath the sweater, obviously, and the expanse of skin showing was currently more than Crowley's brain was ready to process. Aziraphale sighed.

"Really, Crowley," he murmured, and Crowley finished off his eggnog for a boost of liquid confidence before shaking his head.

"You look beautiful, angel. I didn't think anybody would be able to pull off the fucking dress. It was supposed to be a joke present and you've managed to rock the outfit, okay? Don't worry about me, I'm just... overreacting." _Probably_ , he thought to himself.

"You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it."

The bookshop seemed to agree. After a second, the corner rearranged again, another bookshelf moving away to make a bigger circular space, and the gramophone sounding clearer now. Louder. A slow version of some Christmas carols he'd heard a million times started to play, and Aziraphale blushed.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry..."

"We might as well, since the bookshop is in one of its moods," Crowley agreed in a whisper. He stood up as well, vanishing the mirror away. "I hope you know how to dance, because I really, really don't."

"Well, I know the basic idea, I suppose..."

"Great, you're leading."

Waltzing was an unmitigated disaster.

Waltzing was an unmitigated disaster, for at least a few songs, until Crowley realized that what he lacked in finesse, Aziraphale lacked in rhythm, and they could at the very least complement each other with that. Then it went a little better, though not by much, for a few other songs.

Crowley wouldn't have been able to tell how long they spent dancing, not really. At first he'd placed his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, letting him lead, but they'd eventually switched roles when Crowley turned out to be the only one able to keep the slow rhythm. He'd then kept his hand firmly on the middle of Aziraphale's now naked back, and had carefully made sure that his palms wouldn't be sweaty. He felt his entire corporation would be sweaty, if he allowed it to be, but he was already aware that he was nervous enough without the added worry of a human corporation, of all things. As it was, he wasn't even sure why he'd agreed to dance. They had never danced before, and he should have probably panicked more about it, and really, he thought it might be because he'd already been panicking about something else. Which, way to go. Panic about something and try to deflect it by doing something else that also makes you panic!

He wasn't panicking, though, he realized.

His grip on Aziraphale was light, yes. He didn't want to bother him. But Aziraphale's grip on him was firm. Not strong, it didn't hurt at all, but firm. Secure. Aziraphale was a little unsure as they moved, but he was steady on his heels, and they clicked almost seductively against the boards on the floor. The bookshop made paper noises here and there, rearranging, and the gramophone crackled nicely, playing endlessly for them. It might also have been part of the bookshop's trick, not that Crowley cared much anymore. He was lost on their dance, on their slow back and forth. Aziraphale looked up at him at some point, and he was lost. Entirely, utterly, nerve-wrackingly and deliciously lost.

He would have been unable to say how long they'd been dancing for, until they lost their footing with something, and almost toppled down together, breaking the spell. Aziraphale took a hand away from Crowley to bracket their fall against a bookshelf, and they both gasped, surprised by the sudden change, broken out of their little bubble. Crowley also started to blush as he realized why they had fallen.

"The bookshop," Aziraphale whispered as he realized as well. "Oh, dear..."

It had set a book right under Aziraphale's foot, and he'd slipped on it, almost toppling a bookshelf down as they fell.

It had also set a piece of mistletoe on top of them, though, which was what had them both blushing fiercely. Crowley clicked his tongue. The bookshop had tried that before, when they'd stopped on the staircase, but Aziraphale hadn't noticed the little twig floating above them, and he'd been able to swat it away before anything happened. Now, however, it was a little late. One of his hands was trapped behind Aziraphale's back, against the bookshelf, and the other was still tangled with the angel's, and anyway, he had already seen it...

Crowley looked up to glare at it, but then he sighed.

He'd been very obvious all day, he supposed. And it wasn't like Aziraphale was _that_ dense, he _had_ to know how Crowley felt. He could simply blame it on the bookshop trying to help him out. He breathed.

"Listen, I'm sorry about your shop," he started. Aziraphale seemed startled at this. "You know how obvious I am sometimes, but we both know you don't like me that way, and I would never ask you to... I mean, what I'm trying to say is that you don't have to. The shop is going through a lot of trouble to help me out, but we have our own way of doing things, right? It's worked well so far, and..."

"What?" Aziraphale asked, frowning. "Wait, what, you...? I, hold on, hold on..." he seemed to be processing something, but Crowley couldn't help but chuckle. He was adorable, even though he wasn't about to say that out loud.

He reached out to hug the angel, who reciprocated, startled, but then as sure as he'd been when he had held Crowley during their dance. He smelled of food, and warmth, a bit of alcohol, and a cologne he'd worn for decades. Crowley kissed his cheek.

"Tonight has been nice, Aziraphale. Even this is enough for me, you don't have to kiss me under the mistletoe," he said gently, pulling away from their embrace.

"What?" Aziraphale whispered, his voice breaking a little, and Crowley sighed again.

"I've enjoyed spending tonight with you," he confessed. "And I think you might have enjoyed the evening as well. So what I'm saying is you don't have to kiss me under the mistletoe just because it's tradition, I won't ask you to ruin your night..."

"Wh— excuse me?" Aziraphale's eyes widened, and he seemed to finally find his voice. "What are you _talking_ about? Why would that ruin anything?"

"Well, because you don't like me that way—" Crowley started, but he was immediately forced to stop as a fist was thrown his way.

"You don't know that!" the angel cried. After another punch that landed on his arm, he stopped himself.

He leaned backwards into the bookshelf, only to push himself up. Crowley followed him until they were both upright, and then Aziraphale glared at him.

"I know you don't, like..." he gesticulated, agitated, and then huffed. "I know you don't like when I'm emotional, but you can't just _assume_ people's feelings!"

"Wait, wait, what?" Crowley stammered. Aziraphale only glared some more. "Angel, what am I assuming? I've loved you for years, and I've told you in a million different ways, and you've never... we've never..."

Aziraphale's face went almost as white as his hair, and Crowley reached out to shake him a little. His hands reached up to hold Crowley's as well, and they were _trembling_.

"Say that again?" he asked demurely. Crowley blinked, and then started to blush.

"I—I said I've..." he trailed off, swallowing, and then tried again, spurred on by the emotion behind Aziraphale's eyes. It was something he'd never seen before, reminding him a bit about their exchange earlier, when he asked to be forgiven. Something serious, a deep feeling hidden behind years of practiced silence. "I said I've loved you for years."

"Oh, Crowley..."

The angel pulled him in again, and Crowley assumed he was going to hug him. What he didn't think, not for a single second, was that the angel would tiptoe, place his hands on his cheeks, and pull him even closer to kiss his lips.

The world screeched to a halt around them, the Christmas carols stopping mid-track, the squeak of the wooden planks of the floor frozen in time as they kissed. Crowley barely registered the way his demonic powers surged around them, mixing explosively with the angels and creating their own miniature version of fireworks. Or maybe it was all in Crowley's imagination, though, then again, that had proven to turn real from time to time. In whatever case, their lips were touching, and for a nerve-wracking moment in which neither moved, Crowley almost convinced himself all over again that this had to be some kind of mistake. Almost, until Aziraphale moved, pressed a little closer, and Crowley's corporation finally got the memo to reciprocate.

It was a tender kiss. His mind was overflowing, but at the same time, it was flat-lining. He felt the most powerful he'd ever been, but he was powerless to the sheer _want_ , the relief of finally being able to gently slide his lips over Aziraphale's. Not forcefully, not desperately, but tenderly, like they had all the time in the world. And they did. They did, and for nothing in the universe would Crowley waste the chance to make their first kiss as gentle as possible.

His hands were trembling by the time they pulled apart some odd minutes later, not that neither had been counting the time. It took them a moment to realize why, even, they'd stopped kissing, and Crowley hissed when they did. Around them, the bookshop's lights were going on and off, papers rustling as if cheering them on, and from the window they could see the Bentley flicking the lights at them as well, even going as far as honking a few times. Crowley hissed again, to make it shut up, but Aziraphale giggled, however, and he was so close that the brush of his lips against Crowley's cheek was enough to appease him. He turned around to look at him again. Aziraphale was smiling, so softly that Crowley thought he would melt.

"Would you like to dance some more, my love?" Aziraphale asked him gently, and Crowley nodded, taking the hand he was being offered.

They rocked to their own rhythm this time, until the bookshop calmed down enough to play music for them again, not that they paid any attention to it anymore. They danced together, slowly, unbothered by the world around them. Christmas morning saw them still dancing, but this time upstairs.

Turns out Crowley could get behind celebrations on Christmas. After all, he reminded his angel every year thereafter, they had an anniversary now. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :D
> 
> If you did, please consider leaving kudos or a comment, they're greatly appreciated!
> 
> If you’d like to create related content based on my fic, please visit my profile for my blanket permission statement!
> 
> If you want to yell with me and share more headcanons for these dorks, you can find me at my tumblr, [kyokotsukuyomi](http://kyokotsukuyomi.tumblr.com/), the comments section down below, or any of the links in my profile. Don't be shy!
> 
> Love,
> 
> ~Lena


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